Muzzle
by Monti
Summary: Future fic, death fic, AU. Those the Winchesters know think about the boys. Oneshot, complete.


A/N: This is in response to a challenge on Supernatural.tv, thought I would share it here. Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I have untied the restraints, and removed the gags. The Winchesters are now free to return to their maker.

ooooOOoooo

This is the day Dean Winchester dies.

And on this day Haley rounds up her family and enlists them into washing her baby, the 69 Ford Mustang her brothers had given her for a wedding present. She had wanted red at first, Haley remembers, but black seemed more appropriate, despite the occasion. She waxes the hood meticulously, her reflection mimicking her, and suddenly she remembers the wendigo.

The wendigo and the brothers. She frowns, watching herself in the glossy finish. Reed? Dan? She can't quite remember their names, but hears his voice plainly. I don't do shorts, sweetheart. Oh, yeah. Dean. Dean and Sam.

Opened the door, and first seeing that shiny black muscle car at the curb, and somehow Dean's eyes carried the same shiny in the way he met her gaze. Sam seemed detached somehow, his mind dealing with thunderstorms, though he had come through in the end, sticking to with them despite the danger.

And abruptly Haley's feeling dizzy, and she sits clumsily on the curb, the cloth in her hand falling to the ground. The brothers, Sam and Dean, and she doesn't know why she would think about them now. Only that the black car in front of her had been kind of a homage to them, a remembrance of what they had done. Her brothers are now flinging bucketfuls of water at each other, and her husband is holding Nathan over his head, the baby shrieking in delight. And Haley can only think gratitude, and awe, and concern, because she knows, somehow, that today's the day.

This is the day Dean Winchester dies.

And on this day Missouri Mosely can't get out of bed. She rests quietly, listening to the erratic thump of her heart, the uncertain swish of blood moving through her veins. She knows she should call her daughter for help, knows that the longer she lays there the more likely she'll end up dead. But she can't, not now, because she suddenly remembers John Winchester.

John sitting in her receiving room, not a day after Sam had sat there, twisting the ring on his finger and aching with need. The way a man thirsts for water, was how John wanted to see his sons.

And Missouri could only silently agree, because Sam's grin had been quick and warm, open despite his childhood, despite the things he hunted. And Dean, with walls and battlements and spear-tipped fences so strong Missouri could hardly look at him for fear she would cut herself. But the two together, stronger than alone, knowing the world was theirs and ready to claim it.

Missouri stirs, reaching for the phone, knowing she has to lever herself out of bed. Because she remembers John Winchester, and his sons, a family both blessed and cursed at once. She needs to find the strength to endure, to get through the day, because she knows, as surely as the cancer eating away her bones, that today's the day.

This is the day Dean Winchester dies.

And on this day Roy LeGrange is remembering strawberries. The first time he had kissed his wife, her lips red like strawberries, sweet like strawberries, his childhood sweetheart who had weathered maturity with love intact. At the end, SueAnn's kisses had turned to ash, and Roy knows that it was for the better she had left him. He's sitting in a dark room, the sun long gone down, one hand idly tapping his cane on the floor in front of him, and he's smelling strawberries like he's sitting in the patch.

And that boy, Dean, so bright he left spots dancing in Roy's non-existent vision. His brother a silent shadow, dark and strong, the other side of the coin. Roy's cane taps out the beat to the song he and SueAnn danced to at their wedding, and Roy's waiting for his son to come home, make dinner, do all the things an invalid old man needs. But right now he's remembering the brothers.

And he's not sure why, he had made his peace with the part they had played long ago. But Dean was all colors of the spectrum to his useless eyes, all colors and none, and Roy wonders if Dean ever fulfilled the destiny inscribed on his heart. Roy had never seen anyone with a burden so heavy, or with the strength to shoulder it, and he wonders if maybe that's why he's thinking of the brothers now.

He stands, walks through the black living room to the kitchen beyond, sure in his blindness. He can smell ozone and rain in the air, and to confirm the storm, thunder claps above the house, rattling the dishes. Roy stops next to the sink, a breeze from the open window above it ruffling his white hair. Dean had been bright like lightning, Sam dark like thunder, and Roy knows why he's thinking of them now. Because today's the day.

This is the day Dean Winchester dies.

Gordon's waiting for the door to his cell to open, because it's nearly time for rec in the yard, and he wants to get a good basketball before they're all gone. He paces back and forth, dark eyes scanning the hallway, and he remembers how pissed he was when Dean left him tied to a chair in that fucking house for three days.

Thinking of Dean makes him smile, because he knows Jo and the others are closing in, and soon Sam will be gone, and Dean forced to watch. But his mind betrays him, and he remembers the first time he had seen the brothers, seen the force they were. John Winchester's sons, the finest pair of hunters known about, each strong where the other was weak, a seamless meshing of souls for one purpose. Dean reminding him of himself, Sam reminding him of his sister, and it had hurt every time Sam spoke in the same careful, questioning way his sister had.

The cell door opens, and Gordon's out, striding down the hall, eager for basketball, but still remembering Sam and Dean. He frowns, shakes his head, and remembers that Jo has it under control, Jo will take care of it, take care of them. He smiles again, but his attention has wandered and he doesn't see Fat Paulie come up behind him and slide a shiv between his ribs.

He coughs, and stumbles to a halt, his fingers on his lips coming away stained with blood. And Gordon can't understand why he would hurt so much, when he should be happy, because he knows today's the day.

This is the day Dean Winchester dies.

And on this day the church is draped with white tulle and white daisies, and Cassie is standing at the door, looking down the aisle where Grant is waiting. And he's handsome, he's nearly edible he looks so good in his tux and the smile that's splitting his face. Cassie smiles back, but her heart suddenly sinks because suddenly its Dean she's thinking of, and she wonders if Dean would look good in a tux.

And her heart nearly breaks in two because she knows he would kill in a tux, her maiden aunt would be squirming in her seat at the sight of Dean Winchester in a tux.

Turning the corner towards her dorm, and he was standing at the curb, waiting for his ride. He was the same age as the college kids around him, but he still stuck out somehow, and the kids walking by parted around him like gazelles around a lion. It had been the green eyes that destroyed her, the green eyes glittering with open appreciation and want, and dark with secrets she thought she'd never hear.

The organ begins with the overplayed chords that mark her cue, and she puts her arm through uncle's and begins the walk down the aisle. And its her day, and Grant is waiting for her, but she starts to weep as she walks, because she knows that today's the day.

This is the day Dean Winchester dies.

And on this day a thousand waitresses in a thousand hole-in-the-wall diners across the country get a bit dizzy, feel a bit light-headed, remembering that heartbreaker who had talked them into the back of his car, or back into the supply room. Remembering his hands on their breasts, trailing up their thighs, and suddenly a thousand waitresses (or maybe just a dozen) decide to take the rest of the day, this day, off.

This is the day Dean Winchester dies.

Sarah's pulling into her driveway, the house dark and silent, and she kills the engine and stares at the house through the windshield. She's starting to feel bad about turning down Steve's invitation to dinner, especially when all she has to look forward to is a Weight Watcher's frozen dinner in the microwave. Her friends have long since given up, and she overheard Stacy labeling her the next crazy cat lady.

But she still feels that odd reluctance whenever a man flirts with her, that odd hesitation that makes her step away from their beckoning eyes. Because she still remembers Sam. Sam at dinner, his eyes clumsy and his hands shy, but still with a core of confidence that made her melt. It was a confidence apparent from the first moment they met, a quiet counterpoint to that which was all the noise and heat of Dean.

She's still sitting in the car, and she sees Fluffy jump in the window sill, his mouth open in silent call for food. She sighs, thinking of Sam, wishing for Sam, because she doesn't want to be the crazy cat lady but she doesn't want to go out with Steve either. And she's crying, real sobs, because she knows when she goes inside that she'll call Steve, because today's the day, and Sam isn't coming.

This is the day Dean Winchester dies.

And on this day Jo is standing by the side of the road, her heart hammering in her chest, her hands to her face. She can't see her mother.

The roadhouse is burning, yellow flames leaping in the air, red sparks dancing like hell spawned fireflies. Somewhere in the back there's a dull whomp as a canister of propane explodes, sending up a black and red mushroom cloud into the clear blue sky. There's still no sign of Ellen.

And Jo knows, watching everything she loves burn, that their betrayal had been discovered. She wonders vaguely if Dean had been sorry, if he had felt any pain, but her brain shies away from thoughts of Sam. Sam comes with his own soundtrack, now, when she thinks of him. And whenever someone plays the Doors on the juke its all she can do not to gag.

She paces, screaming for her mother, unaware of the gouges her fingernails are making in her cheeks. Ash finds her there, mullet singed from the heat, sobriety heavy in his eyes like pain. He grabs her, holds her still, and they watch the roadhouse burn.

Jo remembers Dean first walking in the door of the roadhouse, the swagger in his walk, the panther intensity in his eyes. And she remembers Sam too, because then Sam was Sam, the tall, lanky kid you kinda wished was your big brother, because he was comfort and confidence and warmth. Sam was Sam, then, not the other, not what she had been hunting.

Dean had told her Sam was still Sam. Now. She hadn't listened, and she was screaming and crying and wishing her daddy would come, come save her and Momma. But she knows it won't happen, because today's the day.

Today's the day Dean Winchester dies, and the brother left behind is shaking the world with his pain, broadcasting his grief to the world, small images of Dean flying like bits of shrapnel.

And Lucas thinks, Thanks for listening. And for Led Zeppelin.

And Layla's mother thinks, Finally.

And Jo thinks, I'm sorry.


End file.
